


honey-tongued

by jeserai



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 22:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20974037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeserai/pseuds/jeserai
Summary: She’s somehow even more beautiful up close, dark hair feathering out in delicate waves down her back. And her eyes, her eyes. As long as she lives, Adora doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget or even describe the exact shades of her eyes. The right, a clear, shining teal, like the perfect blue of a tropical beach, like a rare topaz gemstone, like a delicate petal of a forget-me-not. And the left, some strange golden honey color, something akin to the liquid gold of the whiskey glinting in the glass by Perfuma’s arm, to the sparks let up in a midnight bonfire, to that exact, fleeting moment when the sun rises on a summer morning.





	honey-tongued

**Author's Note:**

> gays, this is just pure pwp

Adora doesn’t drink. At least, not like this, not with too many bodies pulsing around her, not with a heavy bassline jarring her bones, not with too much sound and heat and smell and flashing light overwhelming every sense. Clubs are too  _ much _ , and Adora would rather spend a Friday night at home with a pint of ice cream, a warm bath and a carefully chosen movie or two. Not  _ this _ .

But it’s Glimmer’s birthday and Adora and Bow are bound by best friend law to make this day a good one, and they have. They’d taken her to a cute little café for breakfast, and then took her out shopping, and surprised her with a birthday party with family when they got home. And now they’re at a club (one of the _ fancy _ ones) and somehow, Bow has managed to persuade the bartender (whose name is apparently Perfuma) to give them free drinks for the night.

Glimmer’s downed two glasses of something fruity and sweet already before squeezing Adora’s shoulder, yelling in her ear something unintelligible and disappearing onto the dancefloor when Adora nods. Bow quickly follows her, leaving her to watch their drinks and watch helplessly as her friends are swallowed by the crowd.

She hears a faint wisp of laughter from behind her and turns to find Perfuma grinning wide, dimples on display. She nods to where Bow had whirled off to and shakes her head like she knows the feeling of having tornados of energy and light and life for best friends, and maybe she does.

Adora just shrugs and smiles in that helpless, fond way because yeah, Glimmer and Bow can be quite a handful. If it were quieter, she’d maybe strike up a conversation, because something about Perfuma makes her think that they’d get along quite well, but this is a club, and clubs aren’t for talking or getting to know people.

Clubs are for all the things that Adora’s Friday nights never entail: cheap alcohol, everything too loud, and casual, messy sex.

But then, Perfuma leans in, clearly meaning to speak. And Adora is prepared, for an innuendo or perhaps a more innocent line, but all Perfuma says is, “My best friend is just like that: when something comes up that she wants, that's all she gravitates towards.”

It’s so blessedly  _ normal _ that Adora can’t help laughing, and that stupid ugly one too, the one Glimmer always teasingly tells her sounds like windshield wipers. When she can finally bring herself to speak, Perfuma is smiling, soft and pleased, one dimple winking out.

“It makes my life more enjoyable,” Adora half-shouts, “even if I’d rather be at home with some ice cream and a movie.”

Perfuma nods sagely, and she's still smiling that infectious smile when she says, “Between you and me, I'd much rather be home with a book or two and new music to listen to at an  _ acceptable _ volume.”

And there are so many things Adora wants to say and ask, but before she can even figure out what to say, Perfuma straightens up, eyes on something behind them. “Are you expecting someone? That girl’s been staring at you for the past few minutes, and she’s coming over now.”

“What? No, it’s just me, Bow and Glimmer.” But when Adora turns around to see who it was (and possibly berate them for trying to sneak up on her), her brain short-circuits. Because it’s not anyone in their friend group, it’s not anyone she even knows: it’s the most beautiful person Adora has ever seen. As Perfuma had said, she’s making her way slow and steady towards them, eyed fixed on Adora’s with such a cool intensity that it makes her stomach roll.

She’s somehow even more beautiful up close, dark hair feathering out in delicate waves down her back. And her eyes, her  _ eyes _ . As long as she lives, Adora doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget or even describe the exact shades of her eyes. The right, a clear, shining teal, like the perfect blue of a tropical beach, like a rare topaz gemstone, like a delicate petal of a forget-me-not. And the left, some strange golden honey color, something akin to the liquid gold of the whiskey glinting in the glass by Perfuma’s arm, to the sparks let up in a midnight bonfire, to that exact, fleeting moment when the sun rises on a summer morning.

She’s quite literally breathtaking all in all, and when she smiles, Adora chokes on the breath that she’d finally gotten back. The gorgeous girl appears not to notice, or care, because she fits himself right up against Adora like she belongs there. Usually, Adora would blanche at such close contact with a stranger, but with this... _ angel _ , it feels right. And almost familiar.

The word  _ angel _ floats through Adora’s mind again as their gazes break and meet again, because how could this girl be anything but, all shades of warm caramel and honey gold? The thought comes back again though, that she looks almost familiar, but it slips away too easy with the smile that flirts with the girl’s lips.

“You look like an angel,” the girl says then. She doesn’t raise her voice, and Adora can hear her perfectly, but the words don’t register the way they should.

“What?”

“You look like an angel.” And it’s said so earnestly, so easily that Adora wants to believe it. If it were any other person, she wouldn’t, but those words said by this perfect stranger is. It’s something.

“You—I—I don’t—” Adora splutters, feeling her cheeks go pink as a patient, enamoured smile flirts with the corners of the girl’s lips, “thank you? Why did you…?”

“I like beautiful things.” She says it easily, so easily, and Adora is  _ sure _ now that she’s blushing. The little voice in her head says, this is too easy, too genuine to be flirting, but Adora pushes that aside because no, no, this girl can’t be  _ serious _ .

When it becomes clear that Adora isn’t going to say anything coherent, one of the girl’s hands falls to her waist like it belongs there. “Dance with me.”

All Adora can do is nod and let the girl (“What’s your name?” Pause, “Catra.” Again, almost familiar) lead her out and onto the floor. They’re in the center of the room, as far as Adora can tell, and Catra leads her easily, naturally. She’s always touching Adora somewhere, a hand on her hip or on her wrist, their hips brushing together and their bodies colliding as they’re jostled by the crowd.

Unlike Adora, Catra seems used to this, and she occasionally leans in too close to whisper words that have lost their meaning in his ear, voice impossibly smooth and raspy. When Catra’s voice curls around her name, Adora very nearly whimpers. And maybe she does, because Catra laughs into the curve of her neck, and she’s definitely smirking, definitely teasing.

Adora doesn’t mind.

She’s not drunk, but she feels it, drunk on the heat and the lights, on the warmth radiating off of Catra’s body and the pressure of her hips and hands, on the sultry tones of her voice and the smirk in her laugh. So it’s not long, all things considered, before she’s tipping her head back just a little, a clear invitation that Catra easily, eagerly,  _ finally _ takes. Her lips are a pretty, glossed rosebud pink, and they’re soft on Adora’s even as she grips her waist tightly with both hands.

Part of Adora thrills at the idea that that’s how much Catra is holding back, and a bigger part of her doesn’t want her to. “Catra,” Adora manages to breathe out, pleading for what, she doesn’t quite know. Something,  _ anything _ .

This time, it’s Catra that shivers, almost imperceptibly. “What do you want me to do to you?”

It’s cocky, and Adora would hate that but for how much she  _ needs _ , how much she needs Catra’s hands and body and voice and mouth. “Kiss me,” is what she settles on, “please, Catra, need you.”

“Gorgeous,” Catra whispers, “you’re gorgeous.”

And then she kisses her again,  _ really _ kisses her. Nails digging into Adora’s sides and lips insistent, and Adora feels reckless and drunk enough to press her hips back, to trail one of her free hands around to hold Catra by the waist when Catra’s grip tightens further. When Catra turns her around, the first thing Adora does is kiss her until they’re both breathless, Adora gasping into the curve of Catra’s neck as she’s held, as she shakes apart in her arms.

Catra’s lips are on her neck now, and Adora knows that there’s going to be a hickey or two—or hopefully ten—by the time she’s finished, knows there will be bruises from Catra’s fingers on her waist. “Want you to fuck me,” she confesses, biting her lip at the way Catra  _ looks  _ at her.

“Pretty,” Catra murmurs, “you’d look so good.” Praises are falling from her lips like summer rain and each brush of Catra’s lips against Adora’s skin feel like flower petals, light and teasing. They’re about the same height, but like this, Adora feels small, and almost on instinct, she looks up at Catra. Up, at how dark and wanting her eyes are, at how her rosebud lips are now strawberry red and swollen, at her hair disheveled from Adora’s own hands. And then it hits her, that  _ she  _ did this. She’s the one that made Catra come this undone—though Adora is sure she looks not that much better.

“So gorgeous,” Catra continues, “begging for me to fuck you senseless.” As she speaks, her hands trail fire from Adora’s waist to rest full on her ass, squeezing tight enough to make Adora gasp and arch away from the pain.

“Do that again,  _ please. _ ”

“Do what again?” The way she says it tells Adora that Catra  _ knows,  _ that she knows and she’s just teasing.

“Please, Catra,  _ fuck— _ ” Adora gives up, leaning up to give Catra another bruising kiss. Catra just laughs and nips Adora’s lower lip, trapping it between her teeth and leaning back, forcing Adora to follow.

“Good?” Catra asks when she pulls away, and her voice is somehow, impossibly even deeper, raspier. Adora feels like she’s melting.

“God, yes. So good, Catra,  _ please _ .”

“Tell me what you want, Adora.  _ Tell  _ me.”

“Anything, Catra, just—please, I need you everywhere.” And that’s just it, Adora thinks. She needs Catra everywhere, her hands and her lips and her teeth and her tongue, needs to feel feel feel and be felt, touch and be touched, needs anything and everything that Catra is willing to give. She can’t figure out how to  _ say  _ what exactly she needs, how she needs Catra’s hands on her hips neck waist, how she needs Catra’s lips on her chest neck lips, how she needs to feel vulnerable and raw and open with Catra,  _ for _ Catra.

But she can’t  _ say _ that, so Adora settles for saying, “Need you, all of you.”

Catra just looks at her (through her, into her) for a long moment, and then she nods.

The ride back to Adora’s house is burning quiet, with Catra’s hand on her knee (now on her thigh, now high up on her inner thigh), and Adora’s gaze constantly flicking between the road and Catra’s side profile. Her heart keeps stuttering and her breath freezes up in her throat each time Catra’s face lights up with each passing strip of moonlight and lamplight.

And then, just as Adora glances over again, she catches Catra staring. It’s blatant, unashamed at all, like Adora is some kind of master painting, some kind of flawless sonata, some kind of magnum opus.

“Stop  _ looking  _ at me like that,” Adora whispers, but there’s no bite in it, barely any breath to her voice at all.

“Like what? You’re beautiful, you know that, right? I want you to know that.” The hand on his thigh comes up, ghosts against Adora’s cheek, easy easy, and Adora shivers with it, with how earnestly Catra says it.

“You’re the one that’s…” Adora shakes her head, sighs out a long breath. Catra gives her this long look, like she wants to ask, but she doesn’t know how to. And Adora wants to be brave, brave like she was in the club, brave like she was with Catra’s honey sweet taste on her lips, brave like she was with Catra’s hands on her hips, lips on her throat, voice in her ears.

“You’re perfect, Catra.”

Catra laughs, a little breathless, and she leans over to kiss Adora’s cheek, lips lingering soft of her skin. “Thank you, dork.”

“Anything for you,” Adora finds herself saying, and despite the playful words, she genuinely means it. She pulls up in the driveway, turns off the car, glances over at Catra to see her smiling back, bright and bright and bright.

And then the smile twists, becomes  _ dangerous,  _ and it’s an uncomfortable position, yeah, but it’s so worth it to feel Catra’s hands and lips and teeth again. And the kiss isn’t perfect, nowhere near it, their lips missing on the first pass, the seat belt digging into Adora’s throat because who has time to worry about anything other than  _ Catra _ .

When Catra pulls back, the beginning of a laugh is bubbling up on her lips. “Shouldn’t we go inside? Not that I don’t enjoy this, but…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Adora breathes in Catra’s laughter, follows her out of the car and to the door, unlocks it quick and lets Catra push her through, kissing her quiet against the door once it shuts behind them. Pushes Catra through the house, lets Catra shove her down on the bed, lets Catra get rid and rid and rid of their clothes. They’re left in just their undergarments now, and Catra looks gorgeous in a dark strappy bralette and panties to match. Compared to her, Adora  _ wishes  _ that she hadn’t worn her usual plain bra and boyshorts, but then, she hadn’t been expecting to go home with someone, much less  _ Catra. _ But Catra doesn’t seem to mind; she tugs at the hem of Adora’s boyshorts and lets it snap back against her skin, a giggle bubbling up on her lips when Adora makes a startled noise.

“So, do you wanna…?” Catra asks then, breathless again, just as much as Adora feels. Her hand ghosts against the curve of Adora’s hip, clearly intentional, and yeah, Adora  _ does _ wanna.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…” Adora licks her lips (Catra’s eyes follow) and nods again. “There should be—stuff in the drawer.”

“ _ Stuff, _ ” Catra mimics, “you’re cute. Though that’s convenient.” Adora watches Catra lean over to rummage through the drawer, coming back with a mostly-full bottle of lube that she squints at, a slow, teasing grin spreading across her lips. “Toasted nut flavored lube, huh?”

“Oh my  _ god,  _ shut up, that was a gag gift. Bow said it’d—and I quote, give me the nuttiest nuts ever.”

“We won’t need that then. You’ve got me, I’ll make you have the nuttiest—”

“Catra,  _ please  _ shut up.”

Catra just  _ beams,  _ and that almost-familiar sensation comes back again, too strong for Adora to ignore this time. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s just Catra, but Adora can’t help blurting out, “Have we met before?”

Instead of denying it like Adora thought she would, Catra’s grin just sharpens, becomes more  _ dangerous  _ again _ .  _ “Maybe we have.” And then, like it’s nothing, Catra sits back on her heels, the lube tossed away. This time, when she smiles, it’s genuine, open, honest. “It was just one time, briefly. We have mutual friends; your friend Bow is friends with my housemate—”

“Entrapta!” Now Adora remembers. Barely, faintly, but she does. It had been upwards of five months ago, but she remembers seeing a head of dark hair and a body curled up beneath a fleece blanket on the couch when she was dragged in to see Bow and Entrapta’s newest project. Catra had looked up at her through her lashes for only a moment, and Adora had hardly spared her a second glance, but— “It was you on the couch, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Catra sounds pleased,  _ looks  _ pleased, and something in Adora’s heart loosens.

“I didn’t really get a good look at you, but you seemed cute. Kind of dorky, but still cute,” Catra continues, “I wanted to talk to you since then, and after your Bow told me so much about you, I wanted—” and here, she breaks off, resting one warm hand on Adora’s bare stomach.

And oh,  _ oh.  _ “Yeah,” Adora whispers, “the moment I saw you tonight, I...me too.”

“I know.” As she speaks, Catra reaches out to ghost her fingers along Adora’s skin from her hips to the beauty mark just beneath her heart. She thumbs at it, eyes on Adora as the pads of her fingers dare to brush against first the undersides and then the swells of her breasts. Her touch is light enough that Adora shivers, and despite the embarrassment creeping up, she couldn’t look away from Catra’s gaze even if she tried.

All of Catra’s words are coming to mind, her whispered praises and promises, and Adora bites her lip hard enough to keep from making a noise. Her hands come up on their own to rest against Catra’s waist; Catra’s whole body jolts when she presses her fingers down hard enough to bruise and she lets out the breathy beginnings of a laugh before nodding in approval and satisfaction.

“Gonna make you feel so  _ good, _ ” she croons. She straddles Adora’s lower thighs properly now, stealing Adora’s breath away with one simple movement. She still can’t say all the things that she wants to say, so she reaches up and tugs Catra down for another kiss, gasping when one of Catra’s hands plays at the hem of her boyshorts again before sneaking beneath.

She’s taking her time, fingers lightly brushing against Adora’s clit and slipping away when Adora’s hips come up to force more pressure. And all at once, Adora gets the game, forcing herself to lie pliant and still as two of Catra’s fingers idly stroke through her wetness. Catra’s free hand comes further up, snaking around to her back to clumsily unclasp Adora’s bra and then coming back around, the pads of her fingers ghosting against first one nipple and then the other. Catra laughs when Adora’s body jerks again, and she must be feeling merciful, because slowly, carefully, first one finger and then two slide inside of her. The stretch is steady, but it’s still sudden enough to make Adora gasp, tensing up all at once.

“Relax,” Catra murmurs, but she stills and resumes her absent rubbing against Adora’s nipples. It’s an oddly calming gesture, and though Catra hasn’t asked, Adora nods when she can finally breathe without feeling like she’s going to implode from the pure feeling. Catra bends down and kisses the corners of her mouth, staying close as she begins to finger Adora again, and Adora focuses on breathing in Catra’s breaths and the weight of her body to keep from tilting her hips into her fingers. She gets the feeling that if she does that, Catra will pull away completely, and that is just about the worst thing that could happen right now.

“Gonna go a little faster,” Catra mumbles against Adora’s lips; it feels like it’s been hours of this slow in-out-in-out, but it’s probably only been minutes, and Adora nods as best she can, fumbling behind her for her pillow and gripping it tightly to keep her hands up and away. She wants to beg, and she  _ knows  _ Catra will love that, but she bits her lower lip hard to keep quiet, and—

Catra eases a third finger inside of her and Adora’s whole body locks up at the stretch, a whine tearing its way from her throat as Catra laughs again. “You’re so easy,” she says over Adora’s gasping breaths, and the fondness in her voice makes Adora want to cry, “and so  _ wet. _ And all for me, so gorgeous for me.”

Adora is sure she looks a mess, knows she’s sweating and that her hair is probably sticking to her forehead and mussed against the pillows, knows that her cheeks are a blotchy pink and that her lips are swollen from the kisses, knows that she can barely keep her eyes open and that she hasn’t even shaved in god knows how long, but—

But Catra still thinks she’s beautiful.

Adora forces her eyes open and opens her mouth to speak, and promptly gasps when Catra curls her fingers and grinds the base of her hand against her clit. It’s not even a lot, it hasn’t been long, but the suddenness of it and the way Catra’s gaze burns through her brings her  _ close,  _ and all Catra does is reach up with her free hand to wrap it around her throat and fuck her fingers again, and Adora comes, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Catra kisses the corners of her mouth, fingertips brushing soft against her clit to draw out the sensation as Adora trembles against her.

“Catra, I—”

Catra shushes her, stroking Adora’s cheek and wiping her sweaty hair from her face, a soft, gentle smile flirting with her lips. “Do you have a water bottle? Snacks?”

“Water in the fridge, and snacks in cupboard next to it, but I—” Adora reaches out with a trembling hand, fumbling for Catra’s hip to tug her closer, frowning when Catra laughs, light and pretty.

“Don’t worry about me, Adora. I’m going to get you something to eat and drink, and then we’re going to sleep.”

“But—”

Catra leans in and silences Adora with a kiss, slow and lingering, full of a promise that Adora doesn’t know quite how to name. “You can return the favor tomorrow,” Catra says, “in the morning.”

And—

Despite the faint disappointment in her gut, Adora feels a shiver of anticipation roll through her whole body. Tomorrow, in the morning, and maybe after, and—Catra doesn’t get up until Adora nods, defeated by just one kiss and nine words. When she comes back, she prods Adora to sit up, watching as Adora diligently sips from her water and eats a few orange slices. Catra playfully sucks her fingers clean of the juice (and Adora promptly smears her fingers against Catra’s cheek) and waits for Adora to settle down in bed to lie down beside her, fitting herself against Adora’s back like she belongs there.

The last thing Adora registers before she falls asleep is Catra’s fingertips tracing light circles against her stomach, and that this—Catra’s infectious warmth, her playful grin, the way she so easily took care of Adora—is something that she could definitely get used to.


End file.
